


落葉 | Rakuyou

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Sengoku, F/M, Modern Era, Reader-Insert, Reincarnation, Samurai, Soulmates, i love u kai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x tetsurou kuroo (sengoku & modern periods) | reincarnation au]maple leaves are most beautiful in which they have died, falling slowly, waiting patiently to be reborn.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 368
Collections: Gift Fics





	1. 秋

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaientai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/gifts).



> it's kai's bday later this month and she feeds me so good so u know i had to do it to em 💕

_落 葉 ; fallen leaves_

* * *

“Do you wish to die by the hands of a lord?”

Your eyes turn to the daisho hanging loosely at his waist. The red and black hilts are reminiscent of forests of maple; warm, and yet foreboding. Autumn carries the omen of death. In beauty lies catastrophe yet to come. The wintry blade remains hidden in the glossy sheath, and yet you know if he draws it, you’d be dead in half a heartbeat.

His retainers have all pointed their katana on you, rows of silver teeth curved up into bloodthirsty smiles. On your knees with hands bound in rope, it’s all you can do to look up at him. He’s never looked more powerful, you think.

“Do you mean to kill me, Lord Kurogane?” you ask calmly. His amber eyes smolder faintly with incense smoke.

“You meant to kill _me_.” He kicks the tanto dagger that you’d kept in your sleeve. It rattles pathetically on the tatami by your legs.

“Go on then.” You bowed your head, making a mockery of prostration. “I humbly accept death.”

“…I liked you, Kaede. I really did.”

You’d already acknowledged your fate. Being a member of the Sugurouzai clan meant you’d eventually end up in arms against Lord Kurogane. In the warring states period, nobody has the naivety to sit around and think that they’ll live a happy life. It’s just a matter of time. It was only a pity it had to be sooner rather than later and that your time with him was already up. In another lifetime, perhaps…

“Lord Kurogane.” Somebody was getting anxious and prompts him gruffly. “Shall we execute the spy?”

“Lower your swords.” He holds up a large hand. Taken aback, you stare at him wordlessly, your heart roaring in your ears. In the peripheral of your vision you see people reluctantly sheathe their swords, exchanging unsure looks.

“My lord… do you mean to take her as a prisoner instead…?”

“No.” He steps towards you. Quietly, he gets on one knee. The heavy silks of the hakama he wears make no noise as they shift, translucently fluid in the air. His fingers are hot when they touch your chin, raising your head. Hair falls out of your bun as he turns your face to the sky. To your god. He smiled down on you.

“I plan to make her _mine_.”

\---

“Are you only sparing my life out of pity?”

He remains silent. For such a tall, broad man, he has such intense delicacy about him when writing scripture. The brush in his hands looks as if it is an extension of him. The way black ink trails across the white parchment is mesmerizing; yet the inkstone isn’t quite as dark as his hair, which frames his handsome face in a sharp, masculine way. He doesn’t tie it back and leaves it as is, an unruly mess that seems to capture the essence of fire he holds with such pride. It gives him a funny looking shadow in the lantern light. (You know they call him cock-head in the kitchens.) You frown when he ignores you.

“If you’re taking me as a hostage, it won’t work against Lord Sugurouzai. I’m disposable. Besides, if you don’t kill me, how will you know I won’t try to run away and return to him?”

“You’re still here,” he muses quietly, the voice a low rumble. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since freeing you from captivity. Your blood boils.

“How could you just _trust_ me—?!”

“Do you believe in higher powers, Kaede?”

You shut your mouth, your frustration catching in your throat. His brush tip stops, a blotch bleeding over his work. Tendrils of ink eat up careful lettering, like capsized boats at sea.

“I believe in connection to all humans. We are all of the same blood of the same land. Every action we take affects another…” He glances over to you. In the dark lighting, his eyes look like molten gold. They give you a cool shiver, ripples running through your nerves. “This includes you and I.”

“So, what. You’re a pacifist? Is that it?”

“No. I just don’t think you deserve to die.”

“I’m a _spy_ ,” you argue hotly. “I only came here to infiltrate your ranks to better serve my lord in the case of war. Which, I might add, seems imminent—”

“If that’s all you came here for,” he interrupts brazenly, “ _why_ are you still here? Why haven’t you left and run back to that little snake?” Finally, he drops the brush and turns to face you, pulling a knee up and resting his head on it. It’s a very un-lordly way to sit and catches you off guard. The way his expression is angled makes it even less readable, and you find yourself leaning away from him.

“I… don’t know.” The admission is hushed. Guilty.

“We can’t hope to understand. We can only hope.” He reaches out a hand, beckoning you with his long fingers. Reluctantly you raise yourself off your ankles and move closer to him. His palm cradles largely around your cheek; instinctively you wrap two of your own around his wrist, leaning into the embrace. If anybody saw you like this, you’d be dead. The thrill of cuddling up to a warlord as a criminal positively thrums in your chest.

“You’re right. I _should_ lock you up, or hold you hostage, or even end your life. If it was anybody else I probably would have. But you…” His voice trails off. You re-open your eyes and see him staring off into the distance wistfully. His lashes cast spidery shadows across his face, and violet crescent moons sink heavily into his under eyes. Despite that, he’s beautiful.

“Did you respect me as your page that much?” It’s a jibe in an attempt to lighten the mood that had started to settle like black fog. He shakes his head slowly. You feel the faint motion travel down his arm.

“It wasn’t just that. It’s… hm.” Lord Kurogane, always sly and observant to a fault, is at a loss for words. Your grip curls more tightly around his wrist and you can feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. It’s slow and steady.

“ _‘We can’t hope to understand’_ ,” you quote quietly. He glances over at you. Slowly, his lips split into a smile. His canines are sharp. White. His hand drops from your face, but you keep yours on his arm.

“Right. For now, all I have to say is that you’ll just continue living as my page.”

“…as you wish, my lord.”

\---

It’s not as if the Kurogane clan immediately forgave you just because Lord Kurogane Tetsuran did. Despite being an excellent general and as benevolent as warlords can get, he’s known amongst the castle residents for being a goof with a soft spot for strays. To them, you’re just one of those feral cats he’s taken an affinity to. The maids shame you. The retainers openly abuse you. All the friends you’d made under false pretenses turned on you—rightfully so, and yet it’s still lonely to walk alone. But for whatever reason, you bear it, because he’s right. You just can’t bring yourself to go back.

You didn’t mean to show him the bandaging on your arm, but your kimono sleeve slipped up when you passed him letters retrieved from the messenger. His brow furrows, and his hand circles your wrist before you can retract it. You wince as the bruise beneath stings under his touch.

“It’s nothing,” you lie smoothly, pulling yourself out of his grasp. “I burnt myself making dinner.”

“No. One of them did this to you.” He mumbles to himself, eyes darting back and forth. Even if he could be spacey, he was undeniably intelligent. Kurogane Tetsuran had expanded the clan’s borders relentlessly, practically undefeated in war. When he ascended as the daimyo, the Kurogane clan had emerged as a prominent force under his rule alone. The Kurogane clan wasn’t yet on the level of the “Big Three”: Kiraema in the Southern Islands, Ushini’ji far North, and Sakujohsa, who was quietly dominating central Japan. And yet people feared just the name of him. He was a fiend; an all-rounder. Apparently, by word of mouth, you learnt he was skilled in the bow, the blade, the spear, and martial arts. His strategy and leadership had turned around endless seemingly hopeless battles. His ability to unite his men was terrifyingly inspiring. You shouldn’t have expected to be able to hide anything from him.

“It’s my weight to bear,” you murmur, though the shame shows on your face. His gaze flickers to yours. For the first time in a long time he shows you an expression of raw anger.

“Don’t say that!” he snaps roughly, shocking you with his genuine concern. “You are my retainer just like all of the rest of them. They ought to have the human decency to treat a woman with respect.”

“It’s all right, Lord Kurogane,” you try to pacify apologetically.

“It’s _not_ all right.” He sighs gruffly and runs a hand back through his thick dark hair. It sticks up even straighter than it had before, somehow. Thoughtfully, he pursed his lips. “I’ll figure something out.”

\---

“Marriage?!”

“Ah, here she comes.” Lord Kurogane turns to you, stopping the conversation he’d been having to grin at you. “Hello, my beautiful bride.”

“ _Marriage_?!” you shriek again, so incredulous that you ignore everybody else in the near vicinity. The merchant he’d been speaking to gawks at you shamelessly. “Are you quite insane, you asinine—!”

He herds you into a room while you’re ranting and slides the shoji door shut behind him. You’re practically tearing hair out of your head in clumps.

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” you cry hysterically. “You’re a _daimyo_ , and I’m literally a commoner from your _opposing clan_. Is this meant to heal relationships between the Kurogane and Sugurouzai or something? Am I some sort of leverage to you?”

“Kaede, dear, I’ll explain if you’d actually let me.”

You hadn’t realized when he’d put two hands down on your shoulders. Feeling the warmth from his palms seep through the thin silk of your kimono, your anger dissipates just enough for you to hold your tongue. He smiles wryly at your expression.

“I said I’d figure it out. Nobody would dare lay a hand on the wife of their lord.”

“Is that what this is all about?” you breathed in disbelief, deflating. “Protecting _me_?”

“If thinking about it like that makes you happy, then yes.”

“But what about _you_?!” you protest, your fury roiling over again. Your hands grip into painful fists. “You can’t just marry yourself off to a common girl when you’ve got a clan to lead, politics to maintain—”

“You really do talk too much.” He sighed aggravatedly, though he still had a lazy smirk on his face. Suddenly, he’s very close. “Would this help you understand?”

The kiss, like a harsh spring’s breeze carrying memories of the winter that had passed, did _not_ help you understand. In fact, it just confused you more. Your thoughts swirled uselessly.

You should have broken away and left to home. You should’ve found a blade and killed yourself. Anything but this.

Instead, you melted into his embrace.

\---

Obviously, you have never been married before. Back home in the village, marriages were quiet and intimate affairs. You’d heard of those big city weddings before, of course, but you’d never fully been able to visualize what it might be like.

Now you’re the centrepiece.

“You’re stiff, Kaede. Just looking at you makes me anxious.”

“Forgive me,” you hiss back through your teeth sarcastically. “There must be _something_ on my mind.”

The celebrations are loud and spirited and colourful, though it’s muffled behind the covering of the palanquin. It’s uncomfortable to be swaying in a fragile box held by other people as they carry you and your lord up the mountain. You’d much rather walk, though that’s impossible in the heavy silk garments you’ve been forced into. It’s all rather uncomfortable.

Lord Kurogane clicks his tongue at you in amusement. Reaching over, he smooths a stray piece of hair away from your jawline. Just his touch alone calms you down enough to clear the frantic haze in your head, and you take a deep breath. He’s wearing incredibly ornate clothing, moreso than usual. The gold threading in black silk brings out his eyes. They gleam in a chatoyant way.

“That’s better. I hope you didn’t forget the ceremony rituals.”

“Just because I’m a commoner doesn’t mean I’m stupid!” you retort indignantly. “Of course I remember.”

His chuckle was light and stifled, obviously in a way he hoped wouldn’t offend you. You clench your jaw and turn your gaze forwards again disgruntledly.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re a perfectly competent woman,” he says, strained. He’s still holding back laughter. The compliments hardly even seem kind.

“Remind me again why I’m allowing this.”

“Because you love me?”

You blink. You had never considered that. Marriages were to solidify relationships, pool resources—marrying for _love_? The way he tones it makes it sound like a joke. But maybe he means it, too. Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe aestas, maybe hiems. You never know with him.

“Because I love you,” you reply, so quietly you wonder if you said it aloud at all.

\---

It’s funny how you had no fear to die by his hand, but the thought of making love to him makes your stomach acid burn holes to the ground.

You’re a samurai wife now; it’s expected of you. Lord Kurogane is a daimyo. You’re the first, but probably not the last woman he’ll marry.

It’s not like he makes things easy for you. You’re envious of the wives whose husbands don’t speak to them at all. At least they’re sure of things. But he whispers all these sweet poems to you, and you can never read him or judge the truthfulness of his words. Is it all a lie? Some honeyed way to wrap you up, the way he catches fleets on the battlegrounds like flies? You may still just be some clever little trophy to him.

Kneeling in a room, waiting alone for him to come and do his business with you is nerve wracking to say the least. It’s the first time you’ve been alone all day without any attendants watching—the dread pools all at once.

When the door slides open you nearly jump out of your skin. Instinctively you bow despite the fact that he’s behind you. All the things you’d thought about to rationalize this in an attempt to quell your fears rush through one by one as you press your forehead into the floor. He demands an heir for the sake of the lineage. That’s the only reason you’re here.

Kurogane Tetsuran doesn’t love you. So that’s why it’s all right.

His hands are large as they slip into your kimono. He sits behind you, warming your back with his heat that reaches all around. But the fingers are cold, and it makes you tense. He feels your muscles contract and pauses.

“Are you afraid?” he asks lowly into your ear. His voice has dropped, dusky but sweet with rice wine. You could lie to him and he’d be none the wiser. But you nod wordlessly. Something about him compels the truth. His grip tightens when hands slide down your waist, coercing a gasp—when he forcefully pulls you into him, the budding pride of a man grinds against the small of your back. Shuddering, you pull your shoulder blades together to help him slide your kimono off your shoulders.

“You can’t possibly expect me to resist you when you make a face like that.”

His kiss slants across your mouth. It’s nothing like before. Those had been chaste—the way childhood friends might kiss and hold hands in fields. No; this is desire. It’s the terrifying, unruly desire of a hungry warlord. His teeth cut into your lip and it tastes sickly of iron. Wet. Cold. Hot. Your body is slack and limp in his grip. Is it even called kissing anymore like this? Is this an embrace or an assault?

He pins you onto your back. His weight bruises your wrists even with the padding beneath them. The futon does little to cradle your sore body. You’ve never seen his face flushed this red before, or his eyes so muddy and dark—you wonder if this is what it feels like to be a victim on the sharp end of his sword before he takes your life.

“Kaede.” Your name rolls off of his tongue like a prayer.

“Lord Tetsuran…”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck. You feel his hair tickle sensitive skin on your nape. His weight is intensely heavy on top of your chest, starving your lungs of air.

“Mmfgh—!”

Mercilessly, he bites your collarbone. The pain sears across, sharp at first, then turning dull. It’s a sweet ache that’s intoxicating, turning your thoughts incoherent. Your arms twitch up defensively and wrap around his back, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your hips arch into his. You can feel sweat bead on your forehead as your expression screws up in concentration. It’s only when you can no longer stand it that he releases you. Silently, he laps over your wound with his tongue to soothe it. He drinks in your shaky exhales.

He doesn’t love you. You repeat it over and over. With every motion, every moan that’s wrangled from your throat, you repeat it to yourself. Everything is a matter of convenience. And, why should you love him? You’re only here because you don’t want to die, and going back home would only get you and your family killed. You don’t care about the way he laughs, the ugly wheeze that accompanies a smile that curves the way sun rays do over the horizon. You don’t care about his chest, taut to yours, the scarred one you wipe with a washcloth once he’s done training in the courtyard. You don’t care about the way he lights up like a child when there’s mackerel served with rice. You don’t care that you can feel his heartbeat merging with yours, fast and desperate. Blood courses through you, bringing heat that burns you all over. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t want him, you—

 _I love you_ , you wail hopelessly in your head, throwing your head back so hard it thuds against the floor. The pleasure has muted you into a silent scream. His body convulses with yours. His moans are shallow and hollow against the shell of your ear. He’s completely buried himself in you, enraptured in your touch. The air between the two of you has vanished. Your fingers stiffly uncurl from his hair. It’s over. Suddenly, the well of emotions inside you bursts.

“I’m not that bad, am I?” he asks dryly, brushing your tears away with his index finger. You shake your head, pathetically whimpering. All that time, you’d been hoping for him to stop—in a way it’s because you knew that if he went any further, you would never be able to go back. The pain had captivated you. It’s a silly thing to enjoy pain, something humans go out of their way to avoid. But you do. He’s gone and tipped you over the edge, and you cannot put out the fire once it’s kindled.

“I love you,” you repeat out loud this time. It’s shy, but with less doubt. It clears the air which reeks of sweat and human intimacy. His eyes widen, flashing with surprise.

“Lord Tetsuran?”

He drops his head onto your chest all of the sudden, hiding his expression. Shocked, you look down, and you can only see a faint redness on his scalp.

“Don’t just say those kinds of things…” he murmurs. He’s embarrassed.

“Why can’t I?” you tease, your heart softening as you comb your fingers through his hair. “Aren’t I your wife?”

“And I’m your husband.” He raised his head indignantly. “You should respect me more.”

“I love you, darling.”

“You—!”

\---

“Please don’t go!” you plead, tears rolling down your cheeks. “My love, you can’t…”

“What’s done is done, Kaede.” He turns to look at you on the veranda. Moonlight cools the warmth of his skin, giving him a sickly pallor. “Daishoji plans to take our land. If we don’t fight, we lose. That’s just the way it is.” He runs his hands through the ends of your hair gently, but it does nothing to allay the pain in your chest.

“Why do _you_ have to go?” you demand in complete anguish. “Why can’t you just stay with me?”

“I cannot send my men to march for me without also laying my life on the line.”

You knew that. You know everything about that. When he leaves, you’re the one that’s expected to lead the charge of domestic affairs. You know that Tetsuran is as noble as they come, strictly abiding to the code. And yet, your love is leaving for glorious battle, and he may not return. The code doesn’t matter when you’re facing the possibility of losing him. You know you can’t win against him, but you sink to your knees and beg anyways. He holds you against his legs silently. Nothing in the world, not even you, could ever be enough.

He jumps off his horse when he sees you approach him at the castle gate. During the days leading up to march you had hidden yourself away in spite and depression, avoiding him and everybody else. In a childish way you had hoped he’d miss you badly enough to agree and stay. In that dream state it was almost like war wasn’t happening. Your allegiances lie in the purgatory, because you’ve lived in Sugurouzai lands for all your life until falling in love with Lord Kurogane. There are things you’ve left behind: family, friends, memories. There are things you have newly begun to cherish. They’re sworn enemies of each other, and yet, only one man can emerge victorious.

Your husband is in full regalia, missing only his helmet, which you are holding in your two hands. You step forwards as people drop to the ground, kneeling. Slowly, you walk towards him. He awaits, his face grim.

“What can I say to make you feel better?” he murmurs quietly. The other retainers respectfully move away as to give you privacy. Horse hooves trotting on the cobblestone remind you of just how real and imminent everything is. You grip the bronze helmet in your hands, watching your tears fall onto the polished surface like rain drops.

“There is nothing you could possibly say right now. Just… please come back home. Come back to me.”

It is with great reluctance, but you pass him the helmet. He takes it, placing his large hands over yours. The warmth comforts you the way it always has. But then he pulls away, sliding the helmet over top of his head and securing it. His insignia is proudly carved, and already, he looks like a different person. He’s no longer your husband. He’s the Lord of the land. He’s the man you’re sending to war. He’s the man you fear and love most.

“I would die for you, Kaede.” He looks at you seriously. “Know I love you that much.”

“No. Don’t say that you’ll die for me,” you reply flatly. Inhaling sharply, you straighten your back, and then bowed. To the ground, you whisper, “say that you’ll live for me.”

You look up to him. He nodded thoughtfully, eyes trained to yours.

“We _will_ see each other again. I will find my way back to you no matter what.”

Leaning forward, he kisses you once on the forehead and once on the lips. Your body follows after him in longing even after he pulls away. And then he hooks his foot into the stirrup and straddles his horse, riding away without once looking back. He doesn’t elaborate on his promise. He doesn’t need to. He’s said all that he’s needed to say. You press your fingers to your collarbone under your kimono, bringing back the dull ache of his red mark on you. It’s a crimson maple leaf, one that’s lost its green viridity. It is strikingly sad harbinger of demise.

When the messenger comes to you, ashen faced and grim, the grief settles like a quiet blanket of snow. You don’t need to hear him to know. You had known a long time ago, feeling it as a cold pain in your chest.

Lord Kurogane Tetsuran has died.

_though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light_


	2. 春

“Kuroo! I found this creepy girl standing outside the boy’s washroom! She tried running away when I caught her, but I got a grip on her.”

Lev sounded overly eager as he dragged something behind him. Once he’d moved his lanky frame to the side, Kuroo saw that it was a flustered looking high-school aged girl. Mortified, Kuroo couldn’t even formulate the right words to tell the stupid kid that you don’t just kidnap people. He spluttered uselessly.

“I’m not some creepy girl!” she snapped in his place, shaking Lev’s hand off of her now that he’d slowed down. Scowling, she rubbed her wrist. “There’s nothing wrong with listening in on conversations in hallways, is there? Jesus.”

Kuroo opened his mouth to apologize for his idiotic underclassman’s actions (he was very used to doing that, even though Yaku took a fair share of that load), when he noticed the colour of her windbreaker. Olive green and muted yellow. It was reminiscent of a snake.

“Do you go to Nohebi?” he asked suspiciously, remorse forgotten. The girl rolled her eyes.

“Obviously. What great intelligence you have.” She turned so that he could see the back, and sure enough, **NOHEBI** was printed along the bottom in black. She crossed her arms irritably. “I’m a manager for the boys’ team.”

“So you _were_ spying!” Lev exclaimed, re-inserting himself into the conversation that very clearly didn’t involve him. Kuroo pushed him aside, scowling.

“Right, well. There’s not much you’ll learn about us by listening in, so you go on back to Daishou and give him my best wishes.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” she mused knowingly, clicking her tongue. “Mr. Nekoma. Dai was right. You do have weird hair.”

“What—why does everybody have something to say about that!?” It wasn’t very cool of him to blow up on an offhand comment that was obviously meant to rile him up in the first place, but he couldn’t even help himself. The girl was very pretty, and every time she looked at him it felt like his heart was burning a hole down to his toes.

“I guess we’ll see you on the court for battle in a minute. It’ll be a warzone. Don’t take us so lightly.” She raised her hand in farewell and turned around. Her hair swung like a curtain.

“Hey, wait a sec—”

He wasn’t sure why he blurted it out. Stopping, the Nohebi manager turned around, her expression wary.

“What?”

He was at a loss for words because he himself didn’t know what he wanted from her. Fumbling, he spit out the first thing that came to mind.

“Do I. Uh. Know you from somewhere?”

The déjà vu was strange, and not like he’d ever felt before. Usually it was normal, everyday _oh, it feels like I’ve done this before. But obviously I haven’t._ But this hit like vertigo, nearly throwing him off his feet. Everything about her seemed familiar. Her height, her hair colour, her eyes, her face shape—the more he looked at her, the more he was confused about why he didn’t know her name.

“I don’t think so. I’ve only ever seen you in matches. [Surname] [Name]. But you can call me Kai. Everybody does.”

It was disappointing to have no alarm bells ring in his head. It was a fairly common name, normal sounding, and no matter how hard he racked his brain he couldn’t put a memory to the feeling. 

“Right. Sorry about that. And sorry about Lev—he can be an idiot.”

“No worries.” She stuffed both hands into her pockets and bounced on her heels thoughtfully. “I’ll, uh, see you around. Best of luck? Even though we’re enemies and everything.”

“Yeah.”

She walked away, and he stared after. Why did he feel like he knew her so closely? Kai… he’d met other people by that name, but they definitely weren’t her. Before he could even have a second to breathe, Lev pounced on him yet again.

“Kuroo, why’re you so interested in the Nohebi manager? Do you have a crush on her or something?”

“What’s this all about?” Yaku chimed in, suddenly manifesting at the sound of Kuroo’s possible grief. His brown eyes glinted hard. “Is our dear captain getting distracted before our big match? Does he need a wake-up call?”

“I’m fine, jeez! Get off my back!” He glowered and stalked past them, rolling his eyes. And yet, no matter what, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to find her again. There was still something to be said, even if he wasn’t sure what that was just yet.

\---

“…[Surname]?”

“Oh. Hey, Mr. Nekoma.”

It had been complete chance of happenstance to stumble across her. He’d just been going to the nearest washroom, and there she was. She filled up a water bottle at the fountain, looking just as shocked as him. Turning to face him, she capped her bottle, tucking it under her arm.

“It was a good game,” she stated abruptly, clearly sensing the same awkward silence he was. The old sweat was still greasy in his hair, and he was annoyed he hadn’t been able to find the time to clean up after the match before this. She walked forwards and stuck out her hand. “Well played. Sorry about your libero. Is he okay?”

“Right, yeah. Good game.” He shook her hand, surprised at how small her palm was against his. “Yaku’ll be okay.”

She withdrew her touch. When she did, the collar of her shirt shifted. A red mark slashed angrily across her collarbone.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pointing, thinking it to be blood. She looked down, confused—her expression softened when she prodded her skin.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just a birthmark.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He cringed. That was awkward.

“No worries. I get that a lot. It looks like a hickie, right? My mom was mortified when I was born.” She laughed to herself and pulled her shirt back up, hiding the mark. She started off in the other direction, putting up a lazy hand as a wave when she turned. “Anyways. See you around, Kuroo.”

The sweet scent of maple. Leaves dyed crimson with blood. Rot in his nostrils.

_We will see each other again. I will find my way back to you no matter what._

“Kaede?”

She stopped. Turning around slowly, her eyes were wide. Her jaw was slack, an o painted by her mouth.

“…how did you know my real name?”

“Your real name?” He was just as stunned as she was for saying that out of the blue. It had just popped into his head like the memory had been there all along. Her brow furrowed, and she tightened her arms around herself.

“[Name]’s my legal name, but people call me Kai because… Kaede is… what?”

“Kaede,” he repeated forcefully, momentum driving him the more he spoke. He was sure he looked crazy as he walked up towards her, grabbing her wrists. The water bottle that she’d been cradling clattered to the ground between them loudly. He stared down at her fiercely, ignoring it. “Kaede, I think… I know this sounds crazy, but—”

“Tetsuran?”

The breath was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it if not for the movement of her soft, pink lips. They stared at each other. 

“You found me?” she gasped breathlessly. She started to cry, wet tears sliding down her cheeks in big round teardrops. Her mascara ran with it, leaving funny dark trails on her cheeks. Shakily, she strained. “You came back to me!”

He crushed her to his chest in a hug. His eyes were still wide and his heart raced, nearly making him sick. The memories of a past life whipped past him overwhelmingly. Kaede—the woman he’d never returned home to, the one who he loved so much his spirit would transcend time and space to find her again. She wept into his jersey, clutching onto it. A random hallway in the Tokyo gymnasium at a high school volleyball tournament was a strange place to be having this moment, which seemed altogether too serious. 

“Wait. This is fucked.” He pulled back once he’d calmed down enough, though his head was still spinning. He wasn’t sure if Kurogane was an ancestor, or if that was _him_ , or if he was just having a stroke and going insane. “Is it like some buddha reincarnation thing, or…?”

“I don’t know—I don’t care. I’ve waited hundreds of years for you, apparently, so the least you could fucking do is kiss me. Right?” She glared up at him, dewily flushed red and rosy. His heart swelled. There was no more time to waste.

“Right.” 

Their lips fit together perfectly. Just a few hours ago, this girl had been some stranger. Now he knew she was his soulmate, somebody he loved and cherished so much that he would never love another. She had waited so long for him, and he was finally home in her arms. He would always find her, no matter where, no matter who, no matter _when_. They kissed softly, gently. He felt her eyelashes against his cheek, its soft gossamer touch almost ticklish. The faintly fruity taste of lip balm lingered on his palate.

“You could’ve left a better mark on me,” she whispered when they pulled apart. She was on her tiptoes, leaning her comfortable weight against his chest. “A hickie? Seriously?”

“I _died_. Excuse me.”

“Hey—I died too!” she refuted furiously, looking up to give him a nasty look. “Alone!”

“Nohebi? Really?” he sneered, running his hand down her jacket sleeve. He shook his head disapprovingly. “Transfer to Nekoma.”

“It’s our last year. What good would that do?”

“For one, you wouldn’t suck.”

“Oh, so now you tell me I ‘suck’ after going off and dying in war even though you said you wouldn’t. Thanks a bunch, asshole.”

It was all trivial now—the worst of the trials and tribulations had been done. They found each other. That was all they needed. Already, their hands were wound together, as if no time had been spent apart at all. It’s spring; the rebirth of life, tender and innocent, as if the travesties of winter had never happened at all. 

Love. It is the greatest magic, the thing nothing can explain besides lovers and the deafening silence between stars.

_i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/


End file.
